


Moonlit

by Kangoo



Series: LGBT Destiny Month 2019 [9]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drawing, LGBT Destiny Month, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Devrim likes to send letters





	Moonlit

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by my constant struggle against charcoal. art school, i swear
> 
> did i lack inspiration for that one? yes. is it currently 6 am? yes. was i out all night? yes. hence the shortness. sorry devrim :(

The EDZ might be an apocalyptic wasteland infested with about everything that hates humanity, but it's still a damn pretty sight. If one overlooks the aforementioned nuisances, obviously.

Plus, it's not as bad at night. Figures the Fallen and Cabal got to sleep at some point, and the Taken keeps to more remote parts of the EDZ, where they're more the problem of the Guardians.

It's nights like these, with only the quiet and the moon up above to keep him company, that Devrim likes to write his letters to Mark. And maybe letters are a bit old fashioned, but they're a lot easier to send than email here. Their internet connection isn't exactly sturdy, what with the constant Fallen attacks and sabotages. Paper at least can be added to a supply run or slipped in the pocket of a passing Guardians.

And they're a lot more romantic too. Devrim is a bit of a sucker for that.

Although they're not really written letters, are they. There's not point to it: they call whenever they can, there would be nothing to say. And written words are too poor a replacement for the comfort of his husband's voice.

Instead... He draws.

The arches of the crumbling church. The swooping lines of the surrounding landscape. The jagged edges of a Cabal ship. Warlocks, Titans, Hunter, mismatched armors all in their particular styles. Whatever caught his eyes, really.

It's like a little piece of his life, put on paper with a ballpoint pen and the few pieces of charcoal he has left from the last supply run. 

Mark likes them, if the amount of letters hanging off every available surface back home is anything to go by. So he tries to send as many as he can. 

But there's one letter he's never sent. 

It's more a quick sketch than a complete drawing. He did it on one of his few leaves, when he was home. But neither of those is the reason why he hasn't given it to Mark yet.

It's a portrait of him. One of the many he's done, in fact. Maybe not the most true to life, of the most finished. But to him, it's the most beautiful.

His husband lays on their bed, bare down his waist, where the mussed sheets cover him. He's drawn in quick, simple lines, more the suggestion of a man than a portrait, really.

But he's still recognizable. Still the most beautiful man Devrim's ever seen, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through their window.

This drawing isn't his best, but... It's the one he keeps folded in the pocket over his heart, to look at whenever the longing is stronger than his resolve.

He misses him _so much_. But as long as he keeps drawing him, drawing _for_ him, time before they see each other again will pass just that much faster.


End file.
